


You Again

by katsukii



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Barista AU, M/M, Oneshot, proshipping - Freeform, we love sassy barista aster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsukii/pseuds/katsukii
Summary: Proshipping based on the AU "you're my jerk barista who purposely screws up my name when I order my caffeine fix."
Relationships: Marufuji Ryou | Zane Truesdale/Edo Phoenix | Aster Phoenix
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	You Again

Zane is morbidly addicted to caffeine.

When he wakes up in the morning, blankets strewn about his firm mattress like he's been thrashing all night, the first thing he thinks of is a strong, well-brewed black coffee, as bitter as it comes. When he combs through his disheveled locks, jams a toothbrush around in his mouth, dons his black undershirt and equally dark cloak, it's the sting of a hot drink against his tongue that he's dreaming of. And when he hops in his rickety truck and pulls up to the most coveted cafe on the island, it's limited human interaction that he's hoping for.

He does not get it.

The line is long, but it shuffles along at a moderate pace, the likes of which Zane can hardly find complaint with. Each order is taken in stride, jotted down by a swift, practiced hand, and passed along to the nearest barista. The workers file about like perfect cogs to a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another and oh, pardon me, where's the whipped cream, and thank you, this order is finished now. They scramble like ants, and Zane wonders what runs through their minds as they pour and mix and blend. Each looks so fixated on their work, so brimming with energy it's almost sickening, and he finds himself captivated.

He hardly notices when it's his turn to order.

"Ahem."

Indigo irises travel slowly from the bustling workers to the cashier, who has his arms crossed in a display of impatience.

"You going to order or stare all day?" he asks, and Zane is taken aback by his petulance, though he is hesitant to show it. He clears his throat, stares the man down.

"One coffee, black as you can get it."

"Great. Name?"

"Zane."

"Kane? Okay."

"No - Zane-"

 _"Kane,_ I heard you. Jeez." The man - _Aster_ , his nametag reads, in shiny, silver letters - jots down the mishearing and sets the cup to his right, where another barista picks it up and promptly gets to work. Zane's brows crease and his lips pull taut into a thin line, not at all amused.

"I said-"

"You're holding up the line, Kane. Pretty face but a pretty big inconvenience," Aster says, and he shakes his head disapprovingly.

Growling, Zane steps to the side.  
  


\----  
  


It's a Tuesday morning when Zane awakes an hour too early, spooked by a harrowing dream of death.

His heart is racing in his chest, and his head is spinning; the room bends and twists around him, a threatening display of disorientation. The nightstand is warped on the ceiling - no, it's on the wall now - and the multicolor carpet seems to close in on him from every possible direction, suffocating. Can he breathe?

He can't.

He springs from the bed, nearly stumbling into the nightstand, and fumbles desperately for his jacket. He doesn't even bother to change out of his sleepwear, merely slides into his coat and books it for the front door.

He needs caffeine.  
  


\----  
  


Zane doesn't know why he's surprised to see Aster manning the register.

The silver-haired man scribbles away at cups, lips moving as if in slow motion as he speaks to each customer, asking them the usual, would you like whipped cream with that, or, no, we're out of soy, but can I suggest something else? Only, it's snappy - 'sure, artificial sweetener it is,' or, 'weird choice but okay, three pumps of espresso for one small coffee.' It's odd behavior, but no one seems to question it. Perhaps it has something to do with his elevated status as a professional duelist. He scoffs.

Working as a barista.

"One coffee, black."

"Name?"

"Zane."

"Jane?" Aster repeats.

_"Zane."_

"Jane, got it. One black coffee. Extra bitter."

"No, I said-"

"I heard you, buddy. Holding up the line, there, Jane." And Aster smiles his most toothy, polite smile, one that sends Zane's stomach into a fit of angry catapults.

He doesn't know why he puts up with this.

\----

The next time he gets coffee, it's Xander. The time after that, it's Xanax. ("Aster, that's not even close." "Whatever, Xan.") Then, it's Zen. Not once does Aster get his name right, and Zane is beyond convinced he's doing it on purpose - why, he isn't sure - but whatever the reason, it's annoying as hell.

Still, it keeps him coming back to see if today is the day Aster will get it right.

After all, Zane can't deny there's a kind of kinship that has brewed between them. He has taken to calling Aster by name, taken to dealing with his japes by firing back a quick word or two before being dismissed and sent on his way. He's not blind; he sees the way Aster grins in response to his rebuttals, and it's the grin of someone genuinely amused. It's so different than the first, plastered smile he received from Aster. It's real, and intriguing, and glaringly bright.

It's almost cute.

\----

It's Saturday morning, bright and early, when he walks into the coffee shop, greeted by a very downtrodden, unenthused-looking Aster. The man doesn't even notice him as he fumbles around behind the counter, attacking a long line of cups that have piled up from the orders he has taken. Zane flicks his gaze about the establishment, but sees no sign of other baristas. Aster is on his own.

When the line finally begins to make some headway in moving along, Zane catches a glimpse of just how bad Aster is. His eyelids are drooping dangerously, his skin is pallid and marred by dark circles beneath his glossy blue eyes. Each movement he makes is lethargic, as if he is being constantly pulled at by heavy weights. His body has never looked so frail and ready to collapse. It's so different from the Aster he has known before. This Aster is exhausted, overworked. Even despite his usual abrasive attitude, Zane has to admit: he feels bad for Aster.

"Next," Aster grumbles, his back primarily to the register. He is fixing up the last of a mocha frappuccino, topping it off with a healthy spiral of whipped cream. Zane decides to wait for him to finish before assaulting him with another order.

"Jaden, order's ready."

With a sigh, Aster turns back to the register. "Hello, how can I help you toda-"

He pauses. His eyes meet Zane's.

"You again," he says, and Zane swears he sees the corners of his lips tug into a ghost of a smile.

"Me."

"Black coffee?" Aster asks, already reaching for the typical insulated cup.

"As bitter as you can make it."

"How unexpected," he deadpans, hunting for his sharpie. "Name?"

"You just going to screw it up again, Aster?"

"Better the name than the order, Zaney."

"I _knew_ you knew my name."

"Oops. Did I mess it up before?" Aster pushes his lips up into a small pout, bats his eyelashes in mock innocence. "I'll make it up to you. This coffee will be special."

"If you spit in it, I'll sue you."

"Please. My lawyers would have you on your knees begging for anything but a court date. _No_ , I won't _spit in it._ Jesus. Just wait and see. It'll be good."

Zane scoffs, executes a dramatic roll of his eyes that he makes sure Aster can see. But confidence is Aster's mien as he picks up the cup and jots down a name - which takes longer than Zane expects, but then, he never knows _what_ to expect with Aster. So he steps to the side, waits a patient ten minutes for Aster to get to his drink and prepare it. When it's finally done, his name isn't called. Rather, Aster shimmies out from behind the counter and walks himself promptly over to Zane, who is looking over the pastries with a curious eye.

"I'll bring you one after work," Aster says, outstretching the hand that is holding Zane's drink.

He accepts it gratefully. "Bring me what?"

"A pastry. You keep staring at them."

"I don't like sweets."

"Then I'll bring you a tart. They aren't that sweet."

"Who said I wanted a tart?"

"Me- no one- _look_ , wise guy. I'm asking you on a date here. And if you want to go, text me. Gotta get back to work now, Zaney. Take care."

"How am I supposed to text you-"

But Aster has already turned on his heel and begun his march back to the register, where he swiftly resumes the process of taking orders and mixing drinks. He looks livelier now, face flushed with a shade of rose that Zane thinks is quite fitting on his porcelain complexion.

He sighs, and glances down at his cup.

**Zane. Date? 111-333-xxxx. Aster.**

He smiles, sips his coffee. It burns his tongue in just the right way.

He can handle a date.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this sucks guys i'm out of practice but uhh wanted to create some more content for this ship because i am weak for these two


End file.
